Picture This
by Elf Eye
Summary: Legolas' portrait circulates throughout Middle-earth and falls into unlikely hands.


**Folks, you may blame this brief, one shot detour on _Chrys_, who responded to Chapter 56 of "Things Fall Apart" by suggesting that it would be amusing to see one of the pictures of Legolas fall into the hands of oh-so-serious Haldir. The minute I read that comment, I started typing.**

**Beta Reader: Since this is so short, I didn't send it for Beta Reading. _Joee_, just like old times, eh? Catch me if you can!**

**Vocabulary**

**Mael****—'Lust'**

**Meleth****—'Love'**

**Nîth****—'Youth'**

"Ooooh," sighed Nîth, "_so_ beautiful."

"Yes," agreed Meleth, his dreamy-eyed companion, "more beautiful than anything else in Middle-earth."

More sighs.

Now, in point of fact, both these youthful Lothlórien Elves were supposed to be at archery practice, but they had crept away from their fellows in order to moon over a scrap of parchment upon which were delineated the handsome features of a being who had the ability to set all hearts aflutter—ellyn and ellith alike. Wheresoever this being went, in his wake were left swooning young Elves and frustrated weapons-masters whose pupils were suddenly incapable of shooting their shafts in the direction of anything resembling an _appropriate_ target.

"And that really is his signature?"

"Mmmm, yes. I had to work my way to the front of the crowd and wave and shout frantically, but I managed to get his attention.  
And he steadied the parchment on my back whilst he signed it!"

"He, he touched you!"

"Yes—and I am _never_ going to wash that tunic!"

"Oh, I _wish_ I had been there! Not only to have a picture, but one that _he_ has _signed_!"

"You may get your chance. Have you heard that Peter son of Jack has very nearly finished preparing a new pageant?"

"Really!"

"Yes, it's about some curious beast—rather troll-like, as far as I can make out. Big and blundering. And the pageant is supposed to be filled with some really exciting theatrical effects—the very latest ones, very elaborate and technically advanced. Anyway, perhaps the prince will attend the first performance. He's good friends with Peter son of Jack, and you know what a to-do is made over the opening of a pageant."

"Oooh oooh oooh! I'm going to stand outside the entrance to the Pavilion. Perhaps I'll see him when he arrives."

"You'd better get there early, then" advised his friend. "There was quite a crush the last time a pageant opened."

Just then Mael came creeping through the woods to join them.

"A new picture! A new picture!" he squealed, excitedly brandishing his own piece of parchment. "And it was taken whilst he was bathing in the Bruinen!"

"Bathing in the Bruinen," exclaimed Nith, his eyes lighting up. "Why, that must mean—"

"Yes," babbled the proud possessor of the new picture. "No clothes."

Three heads bent over the picture, and three young Elves squealed in ecstasy.

"Oh, he is standing in _shallow_ water!"

"Yes, although it is a pity that the water is not _just_ a little shallower! Another few inches would have done nicely."

"True, but it is still a _lovely_ likeness—so very revealing."

The three young Elves were making such a lot of noise that they did not realize that their weapons-master had noticed their absence and come looking for them. Suddenly he loomed over them and snatched away the parchment.

"What is this?" Haldir demanded. "You should be on the practice field this very minute, but instead you have got your heads together over a—"

Here Haldir glanced at the picture he was holding and immediately turned as red as a Dwarf.

"Why, why he hasn't got any clothes!" he stuttered. "Why hasn't he got any clothes?"

"Um, ran out of ink before they could be drawn?" one young Elf lamely offered.

"Hmmph!" snorted Haldir. "Likely story!"

With that he stomped off, still clutching the offending parchment.

Once back at his talan, Haldir flung open his chest and tossed the picture on top of his neatly folded clothes. Then he banged the top shut and stormed back to the archery fields to resume his supervision of the novices.

Later that evening, when he returned to his flet, he glanced over at the chest.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "I should examine that contraband more thoroughly—may want to mention it in my monthly report."

He opened the chest, drew forth the parchment, and, settling himself cross-legged upon his bed, he carefully studied it.

"Hmm," he muttered. "I can tell from the pose and his expression that they caught him unawares. Awful how they stalk him, really. He can't go anywhere anymore. As far as romance is concerned, I know the endless scrutiny and speculation interferes with his life. Nearly three years he courted that elleth, and then they threw it over—_I_ think because of the incessant pressure of always being watched and commented upon."

So intently did Haldir peruse the picture that he did not notice the approach of his brothers Rúmil and Orophin. The first he was aware of them, Rúmil had snatched the parchment out of his hand.

"Oh ho," he crowed, examining it. "Haldir, I am shocked! _Shocked_!"

"I confiscated it from one of my pupils," protested Haldir. "Now give it back! I need to attach it to my monthly report."

Now a game of keep-away ensued, the Lórien brothers leaping through the mallorn trees, Rúmil handing the parchment off to Orophin just as Haldir reached him, and Orophin handing it off in turn. Finally the three arrived in the vicinity of the talan of the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. Underneath them walked Celeborn and Gandalf, who were engaged in a serious conversation about conditions in the Misty Mountains. Hearing the uproar, they looked up just as Rúmil was once again handing off the parchment to Orophin. Orophin, however, lost his grasp upon it, and down the parchment fluttered, landing at the feet of Celeborn. He bent and picked it up. Briefly he glanced at it, and then, without comment, thrust it into his tunic and resumed his conversation with Gandalf. Abashed, Haldir, Rúmil, and Orophin crept back to Haldir's talan.

"Oh," groaned Haldir, "what must he be thinking! I hope he doesn't relieve me of my position as supervisor of novices."

"I was reaching for it as he looked up," moaned Orophin. "I hope he doesn't relieve me of the command of the northern march."

"Or me of the southern," worried Rúmil. "He must have seen that I was the last one to have possession of it."

Several hours later, Gandalf appeared at Haldir's talan as that unfortunate Elf lay tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

"Celeborn asked me to return this picture to you," said the wizard.

Haldir snatched the parchment from the Istar's hand and looked at it.

"But, Mithrandir," he exclaimed, "the figure is clothed! Not that I mind," he added hastily.

"Oh, that. Well, thought I'd set a spell on it—for decency's sake."

"Oh, yes. Of course."

"Although," continued Gandalf, "as in the case of most enchantments, the decency spell has its limitations, restrictions, provisos, and so forth and so on. While it is true that the figure appears to be clothed, when viewed under certain circumstances, the original image will reappear."

"Under certain circumstances?"

"Yes, but I will leave you to discover what those circumstances may be," Gandalf said cheerfully as he disappeared over the edge of the talan.

Reader, Haldir looked at the picture at dawn, at dusk, and at noon. He stared at the parchment under a full moon, a quarter-moon, and a half moon. He studied it under both the waning and the waxing moons. He perused it under a blue moon and a harvest moon, and he brought the parchment out during each and every eclipse—solar or lunar, full or partial. Whatever the secret may have been, Haldir was never able to divine it, and so, in at least one talan in Lothlórien, there went to bed each night a young Elf who did _not_ possess the very latest dwarfarazzi shot of Legolas, Prince of Northern Mirkwood.


End file.
